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Bangkok to Singapore, Bumps and All

By PHILIP SHENON;

Published: October 31, 1993

AS he gathered up my bags in the soggy heat of Bangkok's Hualamphong Railway Station, the aging Thai porter made a couple of quick assumptions about this American traveler who was standing -- and sweating -- before him.

"I think you go Oriental Express, O.K., O.K.?" he said, noticing in my shirt pocket the jade-green ticket jacket printed with an ostentatious logo and the initials E & O, for Eastern & Oriental Express, the new luxury train that has been running between Bangkok and Singapore since Sept. 19 and bills itself as Asia's answer to the fabled Orient Express of Europe.

As he placed the bags on a trolley, he announced his second judgment about me -- specifically, my net worth. "Oooooooooo, if you go on this train, you rich man," the porter said, smiling broadly. "Mister, you very rich man."

He said this with no obvious resentment but with such certainty -- and in such a loud voice -- that I felt a pang of guilt as we threaded our way past dozens of Thai farmers who sat crosslegged on bits of newspaper, waiting for their trains upcountry.

Before I could explain in my halting Thai that this trip was well beyond my own vacation budget and that I was traveling on an assignment, I was being asked for my passport and ticket by a gently smiling young woman who stood behind the Oriental Express check-in desk.

"We welcome you," she said, her hands clasped together in the traditional Thai greeting known as a wai.

Stretched out behind her were the 17 glistening rail cars of the Oriental Express, my home for the next 41 hours and 1,200 miles on a journey that, according to the glossy brochures, would re-create a style of rail travel "redolent of the charm and grace of the old East." Agatha Christie come to the tropics.

Could the train meet such elaborate promises of adventure and comfort?

Well, this much is true: the Oriental Express is a handsome, well-appointed train that passes through stretches of exotic Asian countryside rarely seen by tourists. But for several important reasons -- most notably, an uncomfortable, lurching ride; a strange chintziness in serving food and drink, and a sleep-deprived staff -- Miss Christie might well have been disappointed.

After making the decision to spend an awful lot of money to ride on the Oriental Express -- a minimum of $1,200 a person for the full two-night one-way trip -- there is a second decision.

Should you begin the trip in the south in the scrubbed-clean city-state of Singapore, one of the hyperefficient if sterile command centers of New Asia, or should you start in the north in Bangkok, where Old Asia lives on in all its muggy, odoriferous, ear-splitting glory?

For reasons of simple chronology, I figured I should travel from old to new, and my trip began on that sultry October afternoon in the clatter of Hualamphong Station, Bangkok's central railway terminal.

I arrived an hour early, and the first impressions were all good. I was greeted at the door of the train both by a welcome blast of air-conditioning and by Eakachai, the young Thai cabin attendant who seemed to remain awake day and night throughout the trip tending to the six cabins in my car.

The handsome interior design is of light inlaid wood in a checkerboard pattern, with smoked-glass, rosebud-shaped lights set across the ceiling. It didn't strike me as very Asian, but the brochures say the interiors were inspired by the rail cars that co-starred with Marlene Dietrich in the 1932 film "Shanghai Express." (This is, in other words, somebody's impression of Hollywood's impression of what an Asian train should look like. Whatever, it's still very attractive.)

Eakachai led me to my cabin, where he had already stored my bags, and offered me coffee as we waited for departure. The coffee arrived moments later in a silver pot engraved with the ubiquitous E & O logo, set on starched white linen on a carved wooden tray. Later came a small tray of pastries.

My last long train trip was in neighboring Burma, the impoverished country that now calls itself Myanmar, and I can still remember the backache after a long night spent mostly brushing away mosquitoes while I tried to sleep on the floor. It was that memory that was interrupted by Eakachai knocking on the door of my cabin. "Mr. Philip, do not hesitate to call," he said, pointing to the small "attendant" button near the door. There are three levels of accommodations on the Oriental Express. I was by myself in one of the two-person sleepers, the smallest compartments. While compact -- maybe 7 feet by 5 feet, with a fold-down upper bunk -- they are outfitted with enough fine woodwork, marble and silk to encourage you to forget the cramped quarters. Each cabin has a small bathroom with a hot-water shower.

The whistle blew at 3:30, and we pulled out of Bangkok right on schedule. I poured myself another cup of coffee, propped my feet up on a velvet footstool and sat back to enjoy the passing view of the city.

The first hour of the trip turned out to be enlightening, not entertaining, as the train slogged through sprawling, tin-roofed slums and smoke-belching factories -- the evidence of an economic boom that has created great wealth among some Thais but left many others behind. Later in the afternoon, as the train circled round and began to head south toward Malaysia, the view became postcard perfect: lush palm groves and paddy fields dotted with gilded Buddhist temples under a brilliant blue sky.